Those Golden Eyes
by fweakin' awesome
Summary: And unrealistic story. Fluffy one-shot between House and my OC, Anderson. R&R. Light slash, nothing explicit. Rated T for language and adult themes. Don't read if your under like, say, sixteen.


_**Why was he doing this?**_

House stood in front of her apartment door, unusually nervous. It shouldn't bother him, he knew it, but crude images of some random stranger cornering Anderson in an alley kept flashing through his mind. Cuddy had told him this morning, paged him and told him to come down quickly.

He remembered Foreman, Chase and Cameron being there too, and Cuddy looked somber. He remembered how she pushed back her curly hair from her forehead and exhaled slowly.

She had just said, flatly, "Anderson was raped last night." Chase, Cameron, and Foreman gaped, their eyes wide, but House's heart thumped painfully. She was _what_? "She was released after a through examination this morning, so obviously she's going to be taking a few days off."

Anderson…that feisty brunette that was inhabiting House's thoughts almost every waking moment. She was a grad-school-turned-doctor, and she was a pistol, and smart to boot. Lilly Anderson. Smart, cute, (adorable, really) funny, sarcastic, and she was the only person who dared insult House, except Cuddy and Wilson.

So now he was here, standing in front of her cream colored apartment door. He took a deep breath and knocked twice. There was what sounded like a thump, then a loud, "Wait, I'm coming!"

He suspected he was being looked at through the peephole, and the bolt was slowly turned. The door opened a crack, the chain cutting through the space like a knife.

"Hey." said House, his icy blue eyes flickering slightly with concern. Her warm tawny eyes were red and strangely empty.

"What do you want." she said quietly. Those eyes, those gold-coin eyes. They were as big as a Spanish doubloon, and normally twice as shiny. But they were bleak, empty with helplessness.

House offered the bouquet of white roses. "Brought you flowers," he said brusquely. She stared at him for a long moment, then closed the door.

For a heart-wrenching second, he thought she was ignoring him. He couldn't bear that. Then the door was opened fully, and he saw her standing there.

She was dressed in a loose white bathrobe, with either nothing or very little underneath it, because he could see the full length of those creamy legs and almost a hint of cleavage.

Anderson swiped at her eyes, then took the flowers. "Thanks." she whispered, sniffing them delicately. House shrugged and turned as if to go.

"Wait…Aren't you coming in?" she asked. There was a note, a plea in her voice, a longing for human companionship. Then she seemed to remember who had brought her flowers, and coughed nervously.

"I mean, if you have other plans…" she stuttered, but House turned those steely blue eyes into her and raised and eyebrow marginally.

He shrugged carelessly. "Nah, I got nothing better to do." He followed her into her spacious apartment, closing the door behind him. To be safe, he locked and bolted it, and he saw a slight relief in her eyes.

House glanced around, noting the warm colors, the expensive looking, pillowy couch, and several sleek game consoles stacked neatly underneath her TV. An electric guitar in the shape of a flower was tucked into a guitar stand, and a bookcase was stuffed with novels and sheet music.

She went into the kitchen, and House examined the bookcase. Stephan King and Agatha Christie were the prime contenders, but half-hidden on the bottom shelf were stacks of romance novels. He almost smiled, the corners of his scruffy mouth twitching upwards. He suspected it of her all the time; on the exterior, a quick-witted, cutting, sarcastic woman, but in her core she was soft, gentle, caressing.

"Do you drink tea or coffee?" she asked.

"Either, but right now I don't think you want coffee," he said, limping over to her cabinets. He opened and closed several before he found her pantry and located a bottle of Jack Daniels. He waggled the bottle, surprised.

"Didn't have you pegged as a whiskey drinker," he said, pulling out two glass tumblers. She laughed shakily.

"I didn't have you pegged as a pain in the ass, but first impressions are misleading," she quipped, crouching down to withdraw a bag of cookies.

House smirked. "You're sarcasm muscle is working fine, then." She smiled, and House, not for the first time, admired those golden eyes.

She seemed to notice her half-clad state. "Um, give me a minute, okay? I'll be right back." House nodded, rummaging through her refrigerator.

Anderson came back five minutes later to find House stretched out on her couch, playing with her Daisy Rock guitar. A ghost of a smile traced itself across her rosebud mouth.

"I would have paid good money to see Gregory House playing a guitar shaped like a flower," she said, sitting down next to him. House felt, more than saw, the place where their knees touched.

House looked at her and drank in her casual attire. She was wearing pajama bottoms that were sky-blue with fluffy clouds printed all over them, and a black Abbey Road t-shirt. He raised an eyebrow approvingly.

"I would have paid good money to know that you have an excellent taste in music," he said, nodding over to the bookshelf. She smiled, genuinely this time.

"My dad was a huge Beatles fan," she said, her gaze settling on the bookshelf. Then she blushed when she saw House frowning and pulling out a fat red binder that he had accidentally leaned up against.

"And this is?" he said, waving the binder like incriminating evidence. She blushed deeply and swatted at him, reaching for the binder.

"Give that back, you pig. Those are my stories." she reached for them again, but House moved swiftly and grabbed her wrists. The two of them stared at each other, their eyes locking. Tawny gold with chilly blue.

Without looking away, House opened the binder. "Stories of what?" he said, thumbing through the loose-leaf pages, finally tearing his eyes away from her beautiful face. He hadn't released her wrists yet. His grip wasn't hard or rough, but he held her there.

Anderson sensed the sheer power behind those musician's fingers, holding her there firmly. He could do a lot of damage, she reasoned, but he wasn't. He wasn't threatening her, but there was a brief note of sexuality in it.

"Give that back, asshole," she said, pulling away. House shook her off, deep in the stories. He looked up at her, his blue eyes preoccupied.

"You wrote these?" he asked. She was blushing too hard to speak. "They're really good. A bit sappy, but good."

She snatched the binder away from him, her dark hair spilling against her jaw line. House was seized with a mercifully short urge to kiss the clear, smooth line between her neck and her throat.

"I know they're sappy," she said, closing the binder and settling it back on the shelf. "It's my collection of rainy day stories."

House gestured towards the window, his eyes locked on her face. "And yet the sun shines."

"You know what I mean, jerk." House watched her, and she looked up, feeling mildly uncomfortable.

"What is it?" she asked. In answer, he brushed a lock of her long brown hair away from her cheek. He was fascinated with the way her hair spilled across her face, masking the porcelain features. It was much like her personality.

"Did anyone tell you, personally, that you are more beautiful than any of the hookers I've seen in my life?" he asked. She stared at him.

"Um, not in those words, no." She turned away from him, but House caught her around the waist and pulled her in his lap. The two of them stared at each other again. Tawny gold with chilly blue.

House's gaze traveled from her bright gold eyes to down to her pink, succulent lips. For a crazy moment, he could almost see why that guy had raped her. To even get a few minutes with this piece of heaven would be worth the jail time. He shook his head, abruptly getting up.

"I should go." he said. He gave her back her guitar, then walked quickly to the door.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Two weeks later, Anderson was back at work. She was unusually quiet all the time, and Cuddy told House to give her the lightest work possible. House had rolled his eyes and grudgingly agreed, but in his heart he knew he'd do that anyway.

House started watching her. There were little gestures, gentle actions that she performed that would be mundane on any other woman, but for Anderson it was intimate and…well, sexy.

Making the coffee, for example. She would get there before Cameron would ever show up, and House started coming in early just to watch her make coffee. A slight flick of her wrists, dumping the grounds, that rapid punching as she thumbed in the sequence to begin the coffee stream, all were delightful to watch.

The rest of the gang was especially nice to her, and Chase gave her a little snow globe. House snorted when he thought of it. Leave it to Pretty-Boy to think of a cheesy snow globe to give to a grieving woman. Foreman gave her a Rubik's Cube, which she gratefully accepted, and Cameron gave her a week-end trip for one to a spa.

House didn't bother. There were those sly glances, the lessening of the sharp insults thrown back and forth. Those were gift enough.

The next incident happened at the break room late one evening about a month later. Everything Anderson did was driving House crazy; the peach scent of her perfume, the way she lowered her eyelashes when she was embarrassed, the way her golden eyes sparkled; God, he loved those eyes. They could look at you with distaste and loathing one minute and compassion and love the next. They could hold relief, anger, shame, and distrust all at the same time. House could never get enough of those eyes.

She came in from the restroom, having changed out of her work clothes and into tight black jeans and a white satin blouse that stopped at her elbows with a ruffle. House was sitting in the dark shadows of the corner, so she didn't take any notice of him. She picked up her purse and checked herself in the handheld mirror she always carried. As usual, she made a face at herself and applied a bit of strawberry scented lip gloss. The familiar smell of peaches and strawberries intermingled, sending chills down House's spine.

"And where might _you_ be going?" House said, stepping out of the darkness. Anderson gasped, stumbling backwards, her golden eyes flashing fear. She clutched at her chest, and for an absurd moment House would have done anything to be that hand that was pressed so tightly to her breasts.

"Jesus, House, you scared the shit out of me!" she gasped, calming down, those golden eyes not quite so wide now. House noticed she had on a bit of mascara, making those tawny eyes even bigger.

"That was the point, but you didn't answer my question. Where are you going dressed like a knockout?" He advanced slowly, those bright blue eyes boring into her.

She shook her brown curls, the bright flush slowly fading from her cheeks. "For your information, I have a date." she said, slinging her purse over one shoulder.

"Well, he must be a pretty important date for you to go out dressed like _that_." stated House. He was quite close to her now, and she could smell that oh-so-masculine smell of his, a mixture of Old Spice and mint. She could see every detail of the stubble on his cheek, and she lowered those gold eyes in defeat.

"If you must know, no, it's not an important date, and it's not _that kind _of date. My brother is in town with his wife, and I'm going out with them."

House really didn't know what possessed him to ask this, but the question worked its way out of its mouth some how.

"When you get home, why not come over to my place and we'll grab some Chinese?"

Anderson's mouth opened slightly, and House moaned inwardly at the sight of those plump lips stretched slightly in surprise.

"Are you asking me, Lilly Anderson, out on a _date_ with _you_, Gregory House?" That pink blush was creeping back into her cheeks.

"If you put it like that, _no_, I am _not_. But if you put it another way, say 'Hmm, House is asking me over to his wonderful apartment so we can pig out on Chinese food that's prepared by that guy who runs the Domino's Pizza down the block, and then watch movies until one o'clock in the morning' then I _might_ be convinced."

Anderson stuttered, at a loss. "Um…well, I…don't really know…"

With no warning at all, House kissed her full on the mouth. She tasted just like he fantasized she would and more, of strawberries and sweetness and surprise. She hesitated, still in shock, then, oh-so-slowly, began to kiss him back. The two of them stood there for a second, then House eased a hand around her waist and pulled her slowly closer to him, and she put her hands around his neck, pressing herself deeper into his mouth.

They had absolutely no knowledge of Chase, Foreman and Cameron staring at the two of them, open mouthed, through the glass walls. They knew, of course, that House had been coming onto Anderson for a long time, and that Anderson enjoyed busting his balls, but they had no idea that they liked each other _this_ much.

Finally, when air was demanded from their starved lungs, House broke the kiss, his face still inches from her crimson cheeks. He nuzzled her neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbones.

"Well? Does that help you make up your mind?" he growled. He could actually hear her heart beating, and this turned him on like nothing else.

She gave a little moan as he stood to his full height, towering over her slim frame. With that familiar smirk, she twisted out of his grip.

"I guess it does. Double the order of home fried rice, and ask for chopsticks." She marched out of the conference room, taunting House with every subtle sway of her plump ass. She caught sight of Cameron, Chase and Foreman staring at her, their jaws glued to the floor.

"What are you looking at?" she said, that all-too-well-known eyebrow arching in a playful sneer. The four of them watched her leave, her short pumps clicking on the polished linoleum floor.

House was in the living room playing the piano when the doorbell rang. He stood up, grabbing his cane and limping over to the peephole to see who it was. The way she looked almost took his breath away.

She had taken off her ruffled satin blouse, and was wearing a skin-tight blue tank top that showed all of her toned, tanned arms. The black jeans had been abandoned in favor of loose sweatpants, white with pink hearts all over them. A backpack was slung over her shoulder, and she appeared to be holding a stuffed teddy bear.

He opened the door and she lounged against the frame. She still hadn't taken off her mascara, and those mischievous eyes were wide and sparkling.

"Let's get something straight," she said, breezing in and shrugging off her backpack in the hallway, placing her worse for wear teddy bear on top of it. "Are you going to get me drunk and push me out in the snow, or am I spending the night?"

House picked up the tattered teddy. "Judging by this, you're opting for the latter," he said. She blushed lightly and tried to take the black teddy out of his hands, but her merely raised it out of her reach.

"Give it _back_, House." She made a sudden lunge for it and House, expecting this, seized her around the waist and held her tightly to him. She gazed at his icy blue eyes, and melted.

He handed her the bear. "What did you name it, anyway?" he rumbled, still keeping an arm tightly around her waist. She lowered her eyelashes defensively.

"Edward," she said, hugging the bear to her. "My…my dad gave him to me when I was ten."

House released her, and the two of them went into the kitchen, where House had put the takeout on the counter, along with three DVD rentals. She flipped through them.

"_Gladiator, Terminator 2, _and _The Green Mile_?" she said in wonder. "How did you know…?" she said, her face a question.

"How did I know you're favorite actors?" he said, smugly opening a box of home fried rice. "Magic, Anderson. Plus, something tells me you like men with deadly weapons in their hands."

She ran a hand through her hair, mussing the dark curls slightly. "Yeah, and I'm here with a guy who's weapons _are_ his hands," she said. She went over to his cabinets and opened it, taking out two plates. House watched her, amazed.

"How did you know…?" he started to say. She raised her eyebrows snottily.

"How did I know where you keep your plates?" she said, putting down the plates on the table. "Magic, House. Plus, something tells me that you're the kind of lazy bum who'd keep his plates close to the sink, to save travel time." She said this with a barely noticeable glance at his leg. The way she said this filled him with dread. She didn't like his scar? Of course, what woman would.

Almost instinctively, she slipped and arm through his and smiled at him. He lost himself in those gleaming gold eyes.

"Relax, House. I don't mind your leg." she said, ruffling his hair like a mother with her child.

House snatched her and buried his face in her shoulder, nibbling lightly on the collarbone. She moaned, arcing her back slightly. There was something desperate and possessing in his kisses, an animalistic passion that made her fingertips go tingly.

And just like that, it was over. Those eyes stared into each other, tawny gold into icy blue. They panted slowly, their eyes never leaving each other.

They chose to watch _Terminator 2_, as Anderson pointed out that she liked Arnold Schwartzanegger over Tom Hanks and Russell Crowe. House's heart thumped painfully, reminding him forcefully of how close she was, the infuriating scent of her peach perfume. That smell made him want to rip all her clothes off and bury his face in her, just inhaling that scent and burning it forever in his memory.

The Chinese food was disgusting to anybody who hadn't been living off stale pizza all week, but they barely noticed what they were eating. Anderson loved the movie, she claimed, but winced and hid her face in his shoulder when the savage battle scenes were on. House held her close to him, his lips inches from her neck.

When the credits started rolling and the only evidence of the Chinese food were empty white boxes, Anderson turned to him and smiled, that enchanting smile that made her tawny eyes light up.

"Thanks for inviting me," she said, interlacing her smooth fingers with his calloused hands. "I had a good time."

"So did I," he murmured.

She sat up, but still kept in within the range of his muscular arms. "So, am I sleeping on the couch or what?" she said, turning to him.

House nudged her cheek with his nose, his warm breath on her neck sending shivers to her toes. Their lips found each other, and House sucked sensuously on her bottom lip before breaking the kiss.

"Does that answer your question?" he growled. She smiled, those tawny eyes half-closed.

"Actually, it does."


End file.
